Watching history happen

 

The queue is massive, spiralling around the block. Photo taken 15 minutes ago. And no, they are not waiting for a Rolex shop to open. As predicted a few weeks ago: the bubble has arrived — the big, beautiful bubble called the run on gold merchants. An onlooker unfamiliar with the situation might wonder: what are all these people lining up for? To sell their gold and take advantage of high prices? To buy more, fearing that money will soon be worthless? Yes, a few are queueing for those reasons. But the vast majority are simply desperate to collect actual gold — to convert an “I owe you” piece of paper into real, physical metal. The frenzy and the urgency? Simple: there’s far more paper, more promissory notes, more contracts, than there is actual gold in the entire world. And as the price of gold continues to bubble, there will be more demand, more pressure — until the pressure cooker finally blows its lid, and Lima beans hit the ceiling fan. Back in June 2015, when a batch of twenty Rebelde 18k gold watches was delivered to Rebelde ambassadors, history was made. The first steel model had been released only 13 months earlier — and it was the first time in Australia that a microbrand, still in its infancy, released massive 18k yellow and rose gold watches. And massive they were: 135-gram monsters — not hollowed-out or gold-clad cases, not cheaply cast, but thick, heavy, solid-gold, three-piece machined cases. The retail price was $13,980. Today, those 18k Rebelde watches are worth twice that. And their value is not set by me, or by Chrono24, or an auction house, or a group of cashed-up collectors who worship microbrands. That’s the price any gold merchant — anywhere in the world, from Mumbai to Moscow, Hong Kong to Johannesburg, or Buenos Aires — would pay for my watch. Not because they value my horological genius, my name, or the “Australian brand.” For that, they couldn’t care less. They pay for the gold itself. To my ambassadors who invested wisely in Rebelde: well done — you’ve doubled your money. Plus, you’re wearing a watch of genuine horological significance. You were backers of a project that will never be repeated — or at least not in the next decade — by any Australian microbrand. When someone once asked, “Why would anyone invest in a gold Rebelde?” I answered in a blog post — more than 10 years ago. Today, that answer has been fully validated — and it’s as relevant as ever. What a journey! https://nickhacko.blogspot.com/2015/06/a-post-in-forum.html I promised, and I delivered. Handsomely. Smartly. And much faster than anyone could have anticipated. Myself included.

Down the Rabbit Hole of Gold

 

Over the past few days, a number of subscribers have reached out wanting to sell their gold watches. With gold hitting an all-time high, this is hardly a surprise. In fact, I'll probably be doing the same myself in the near future. First of all, we're talking about scrap gold, not your shiny Rolex Presidents. Scrap gold comes from broken watches, bracelets, links, and jewellery - sent to a refiner to be melted down and reused. And yes, now is the perfect time to turn junk into gold. However, the process of turning scrap into bullion is a bit tricky, to say the least. Having gone through this journey a number of times, I speak from experience. Basically, you have two options: Sell your scrap to businesses that buy scrap gold, or deal directly with a refinery. In the first case, the easiest way is to find a local buyer online, make an appointment, and show up with your scrap. The problem? They'll rip you off. You won't get anywhere near what an online gold scrap calculator might estimate. The price they pay is significantly lower than the gold spot price. They'll also complain about all sorts of things - purity, carat, content - all being "unknown" or "too risky." But you'll walk away with cash in hand. Dealing with refiners directly comes with its own challenges. The most obvious one: as wholesale businesses, they're primarily interested in large quantities of scrap metal. One broken watch and a couple of earrings aren't worth their trouble. There are also numerous "fixed costs" associated with refining. The assay fee - a charge to test and determine the purity of your gold - can be either a flat rate or a percentage of the total value. Some refineries waive assay fees for large quantities, while others charge for incoming weight, retention, and handling, in addition to the assay itself. Then there's the refining time. It can take weeks to get your 24K gold back. But what really makes me nervous is the downright dodginess of the process. You're expected to place complete trust in the refiner, while having no leverage or oversight whatsoever. You leave your scrap - and whatever comes out of it is what it is. For example, the common procedure is to have your scrap pre-sorted (9K, 14K, 18K, 24K), weighed, and recorded, then weighed again at the refinery. However, the last time I handed over my metal, I was simply asked to leave it behind - to be weighed later - because, apparently, "the scales weren't working." And I did. There's no point arguing with a refiner. It's a take-it-or-leave-it deal. The upside is that, at the end of the refining process, you'll receive a lump of pure 24K gold (plus some silver), and you'll have the option to sell it on the spot at the actual market rate, have it stored, or take physical possession. You'll also receive a proper receipt. To be fair, gold merchants and refiners are constant targets for forgers and crooks, so their lives aren't easy either. Dealing directly with them requires experience - and strong nerves. And yes, they're all the same. Of course, if you have an 18K gold watch you'd like to sell for scrap, or any fine modern or vintage piece similar to our current stock, feel free to reach out. I'll be happy to make you an offer upon inspection.

But then again, selling any watch for its metal value feels almost sacrilegious. Take, for instance, this 1920s gold pocket watch - broken, missing parts, far beyond restoration. And yet, on its weary case back, a tender engraving remains: two birds hovering over a nest, guarding a single egg. The message could not be more heartfelt - a young family, full of hope, awaiting new life. One can almost imagine it: a father-in-law's gift, his blessing engraved in gold. So, to scrap it, or not? You tell me.

Important – Please Read

 

Especially if you are new to watch collecting. Sydney Watches Pty Ltd is a licensed second-hand dealer. We buy and sell preowned watches. Yes, many of them are in like-new condition, and some even still unwrapped, but technically and legally, they are all second-hand goods. If you are an existing customer or a long-time subscriber, you already know how proud I am of what I do. Finding fine preowned stock at the right price is extremely difficult. My service to watch collectors is highly valued, and over the past 30 years, I’ve sold more than 10,000 high-grade preowned watches. That is actually a conservative estimate. The bottom line is simple: I know what I’m doing, I’ve been doing it for decades, and I’m happy to continue selling second-hand watches. All watches offered are 100% genuine. Selling replicas or fake watches is illegal in Australia—and even if it weren’t, I would never sell fakes.   A common question: How old is the watch? Before I answer, let me make one important point: to me, age is almost irrelevant. What truly matters is condition. A five-year-old watch in unworn, like-new condition is worth more than a one-year-old watch that has been heavily worn. However, to a novice collector—or especially to a first-time buyer—this may not be obvious. It’s natural to focus on age: the newer, the better. Most buyers are happy to learn otherwise, and after a bit of “education” and a few examples, their focus shifts to condition. However, some buyers remain fixated on age, and age only. If that’s you, you’ll be better off buying a brand-new watch from an authorised dealer. Nothing beats a brand-new watch.   Determining the age of a preowned watch The only reliable and legally valid way to determine the age of a preowned watch is by referring to the date of sale recorded on the warranty card—filled in by the manufacturer or authorised dealer. In reality, watches on the preowned market typically fall into one of three categories: Watch only – no warranty card or receipt/invoice (“no papers”). Watch with warranty card – but no date of sale recorded (“open papers”). Watch with warranty card and date of sale recorded (“with papers”). Here is an example open papers warranty and one showing the actual date of sale:

In the first two cases, it’s not possible to determine the exact age of the watch. Instead, I provide an estimate based on several factors. In such cases, we usually refer to the watch as being manufactured within a certain period—often a span of 5–10 years or a decade—rather than in a specific year.   1. Should you buy a watch with no papers? That’s entirely up to you. Often, a watch without papers is cheaper than an identical model with papers. Booklets, warranty cards, invoices, and valuations are often stored separately from the watch—and sometimes they’re simply lost, discarded, or “safely stored” and never found again. For most buyers, papers are far less important than overall condition. 2. Watches with open papers Watches with open papers (no date of sale recorded) are less common today than they were 10 or 20 years ago, but many are still in circulation. In the past, authorised dealers were often willing to leave the date blank at the customer’s request. I’ve seen open papers from Rolex, Omega, IWC and Cartier—you name it—and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that.

3. Watches with papers and factory warranty A common question: How much of the manufacturer’s warranty is left? For example: if Omega offers a 5-year warranty on a new watch, and the watch is now 2 years old, is it still covered for another 3 years? The honest answer: I don’t know—and I don’t care. Remember, I am a second-hand dealer. I provide my own 1-year warranty on all watches I sell. I don’t represent Omega, and I can’t guarantee whether they will honour their international warranty obligation in cases of transferred ownership. If they do—fantastic. If they don’t—then perhaps you should buy a brand-new watch directly from Omega instead of a preowned one.

In conclusion, you can’t have your cake and eat it too. New watches: full price, full factory warranty. Preowned watches: savings, one-year dealer warranty.

One micro step in time

 

The 76th International Astronautical Congress is being held in Sydney from the 29th of September to the 3rd of October 2025, with thousands of delegates from around 100 nations expected. This prestigious event brings together the world’s space community to explore the latest advancements and trends, academic research, industry connections, and partnership opportunities. And yes, NH Micro is there - proudly representing Australian home-grown engineering and manufacturing. While NH Micro is certainly the smallest of all exhibitors, we’re already making waves with the fact that we have numerous parts in space. Nearly all of the coolest space projects we are involved in are kept under tight NDA's, but we can say that NH Micro hardware is orbiting above you at any given time, in any given location on earth!

Today, we need your support more than ever. Participating in an event of this magnitude is a significant investment for a micro-business. To help offset some of the costs, we’re running a special promotion on a Seiko, offered at an amazing reduced price. We’ll also include an NH Micro mug, signed by our small team - a win-win deal, heavily skewed in your favour. We’re excited! Join us and let’s celebrate together.

Seiko Prospex Save the Ocean Special Edition SPB301J 42.7mm case size. Stainless steel case and bracelet. White dial. Sapphire crystal. Date window at 3 o'clock. Automatic movement - calibre 6R35. 70 hours power reserve. Water resistance 200 metres.  Boutique price $2,100 Your price $1,200  + a signed NH Micro mug!

What Kind Are You?

Watches aren’t going anywhere. No matter what 'big tech' tries to strap onto our wrists, there will always be people who buy, collect, and actually wear watches. I don’t see that slowing down for the next 30 years.

But the so-called collectors aren’t one big happy family. They’re a jungle of sub-species - each with its own quirks, excuses, and questionable logic. After decades in the trade, here’s my field guide:

The Magpie
Collects purely by eye. Beauty, shape, style - if it sparkles, it’s in. The collection ends up a dozen or so watches with nothing in common… except they all look fantastic. Worn daily, shuffled like a deck of cards.

The Sentimentals
A drawer full of Dad’s, Mum’s, and Uncle’s watches. The crown jewel? The twenty-first. Milestone pieces with heart-swelling stories, but almost no resale value. To them, that’s the point.

It’s All About Money
The biggest group of all. Watches aren’t worn - they’re spreadsheets. Each piece is a “strategic asset,” purchased only to appreciate in value. Collecting? No. Market speculation in steel cases.

The Hoarders
Quantity over everything. Two hundred watches and counting - cheap, pricey, broken, doesn’t matter. The joy isn’t in wearing them, it’s in stacking them like firewood.

The One-Watch Guy
Owns a single watch but still stares longingly at every new release. His loyalty is ironclad, but he lives in permanent horological FOMO. Prudence has its virtues… but also its torments.

The Purist
Obsessive, tunnel-visioned, and miserable. Worships craftsmanship - but only if stamped with his chosen brand’s logo. Often correct, rarely fun at parties.

The Dodgy Guy
Knows shit nothing about watches, but needs somewhere to park excess cash. Approach with caution - or better yet, don’t approach at all.

The Bling Dude
Dodgy’s younger cousin. Breitlings iced like a bakery, Rolex Presidents with aftermarket bezels, and other atrocities. Proof that money can’t buy anything of importance..

The Sophisticated Collector
My favourite. Builds thematic collections - often chronographs - tracing a brand’s evolution. Thrives on the hunt for that elusive missing piece. Informed, connected, respectful. The grown-up in the room.

The Rolex Man
Nothing beats Rolex. A full-blown love affair with his AD. His fantasy? A long weekend in Geneva - with the AD, of course.

The Surgeon / Lawyer
After an 18-hour shift, drenched in blood or buried in briefs, he has just enough strength for one click: “I’ll take it.” For him, a new watch isn’t a trophy, it’s therapy. Brutal, honest, well-earned. Respect.

"I like it"
He just likes it - a perfect fit on the wrist, a nice dial, really good looking. He’s happy.
No need to overthink, overdo, or impress anyone. Life is simple, worth living. Watches are fun - meant to be liked and enjoyed. It’s as simple as that.

Happy collecting.
NH                         

Rebel without a cause

 

On Wednesday night, I stayed behind the bench longer than usual. Nothing beats the most productive hour of the evening - half past seven, when the city slowly falls asleep. Around eight, as it was time to call it a night, I was still roaming through the junk box, looking for a "dollar deal" for tomorrow’s premium subscribers. And there it was: a perfect candidate. An old Citizen Diver, still ticking. With a massive scratch on the case - which, thirty years ago, rendered it unsellable. “I reckon I can polish this one in less than fifteen minutes!” I exclaimed loudly. “No, you won’t,” a voice replied. I was quite sure the staff had left two hours earlier. I looked over my shoulder, but there was no one in the office. “Don’t you dare touch me! Put me back in the junk box!” said the Citizen. “Worry not, mate. In no time you’ll be as good as new,” I replied. “Leave me alone, I am sovereign. Besides, you are not a qualified Citizen repairman,” said the watch. “Listen, you shitter, I am a third-generation master watchmaker, and you are a worthless piece of junk. You may be worth a dollar - but not yet.” Swiftly, the Citizen was subjected to a buff. But only a second later, it flew away from the spinning wheel, hit the ceiling, then disappeared into the darkness under the bench. I arrived home tired and worried. That stupid shitter could have hit me right between the eyes. Now, you may say this is all nonsense - watches can’t talk. Fine. But hear this. The next day, I arrived early. I had completely forgotten about the incident. But then I remembered that I still needed a bargain to feature. The moment I pulled open the drawer with pocket watches, I heard another voice: “Herr Hakko, we need to talk!” There were more than fifty watches in that drawer, but I knew exactly which one was complaining: a 1940s German field piece, a Grana, with a loud escape wheel. “What do you want now? I am busy! Keep it short!” The usual stuff. He was complaining that he didn’t want to be in the same drawer with 'asiaten'-  Seiko Railway pocket watches. “I want to be placed in the middle of the display case, where I deserve to be! I am not just an ordinary pocket watch - I was built for Wehrmacht!” Yes, the delusional self-grandeur stuff I’ve heard so many times before. “No way. In this shop, all watches are equal. Your glory days are long gone - you’ll remain where you are.” “On display, to be seen and heard! I am built to last forever!” he demanded. “You can’t go on display. Your radium hands still glow in the dark, you are a radioactive hazard. A danger to customers. Toxic to everyone. But he wouldn’t listen. With a swift swing of the Bergeon case opener, I snapped Grana’s balance staff. My shop. My rules.

The Dead Wogmaster

 

The past few weeks have been sheer madness. Andrew and I are drowning in repairs – the bench is overflowing. I can’t quite put my finger on why. Maybe it’s the weather. Maybe it’s because watchmakers have stopped taking apprentices, or because Omega now quotes a 12-month turnaround time. Who knows. What I do know is that more often than not, we’re forced to turn away jobs that simply don’t make sense – either unprofitable, or with parts that no longer exist. And then, amongst the mountain of Omega and Rolex, a familiar face arrived from Queensland: a Seiko Wogmaster. Yes, the very one we sold not that long ago. I knew it was coming, because I’d taken the customer’s call. New watches don’t just die without a reason. I was expecting something small – a loose screw, maybe a jammed rotor. On the outside, the watch looked perfect. No scratches, no dents, nothing. But the moment I removed the case back, the story was written in plain sight: the hairspring was a mess, hopelessly tangled. It only happens when a watch takes a fall, or suffers a heavy knock – golf swings are notorious. But here’s the part that moved me: once the hairspring was set right, this humble Seiko 5 came back to life with an astonishing amplitude, running at +2 seconds a day. Better than most Swiss luxury watches I see on this very bench. That’s not luck. That’s Seiko. I love Seiko. Especially the ones we’ve sold. They have soul. They remind me why I became a watchmaker in the first place. And no, I won’t tell the customer that his watch was dropped. He doesn’t need to carry that guilt. This repair is on me, free of charge – return postage included. Why? Because when I hold a Seiko in my hands, I feel my grandfather and my father standing beside me. Both of them spent their lives repairing Seikos. When I breathe life back into one, I feel them with me. A Wogmaster on my bench is not just a repair – it’s a family reunion. That feeling never comes with any other brand. Only Seiko. Only the Wogmaster.

So, who buys your watch?

 

This week we ran out of blue Curl Curl dials. For the Mark II project, this is a bit uncomfortable to say the least. Like Corinthian running out of lamb. Like Cindy running out of red lipstick. Like Three Beans running out of coffee beans. Simply unthinkable. To the cynics: No, we have not run out of dial nameplates bearing my name. Plenty of those in stock, thanks for asking. Yet as trivial as it could be to the naked eye, it is a detail like the pocket in the dial where the name plate sits, that makes the Curl Curl dial challenging to make.

The cut-out is created with a tool that has a radius of just 0.15 millimetres. That is 150 microns. Keep in mind that we are milling hard medical grade titanium, not soft silver or brass. Perfection takes time. There are not many dial manufacturers who can do what we do here in Brookvale, not even in Switzerland. The Curl Curl dial is actually a three dimensional structure. Yes, the actual waves hitting the shore, are ‘guilloched’ in Titanium. Yet at the same time, they are so small, so fine, that they appear on the surface of the dial as nothing more than a fine line. And here is the nameplate siting in its pocket, under magnification.

For the past couple of weeks, I have had the privilege to talk to a number of watch enthusiasts who visited our office for one reason only: To see the Mark II in person. Whether the watch impressed them or not, is not for me to say, but those who actually make ‘things’ themselves, who use tools, who design and engineer, were simply blown away with our ability to shape metal, like it is butter. Those who care, understand. If we are to be put in a box of horology, it would be one labelled ‘very difficult to make’. And we are more than happy with that.

The actual tool is manufactured by a Japanese toolmaker specialist. And here is an interesting story: After we ordered a dozen or so of the tool, they sent us a polite email asking what product we actually make that requires one of the smallest tools in their entire range? Josh replied with a photo of the dial pocket. A few days later, Josh was invited by the Japanese to visit their factory. He was the first non-Japanese person to have a full factory tour, to see how the tools are actually made. Yes, they paid for return tickets for both Josh and his wife, as well as accommodation.

Pounding

 

There is a thin line between what one might call a fine collection of curious objects and a pile of rubbish. Often, I find myself on the other side. A perfect example: a 1950s British Morse key, manufactured by Walters Electrical. A bit crude in execution, but very solid - built to be pounded on for decades. This particular example was used by a Post Office Morse code operator. Numbered and signed! Unfortunately, with so many ongoing projects, the decision was made to let it go. The price was set at a mere $50 which is probably less than what I paid for it twenty years ago. A post on a Facebook ham radio group late Sunday generated plenty of likes and one potential buyer. “Hey, is the key still available? Can I come and collect it? I live close by.” It was already past 7pm, cold and wet, and the last thing I wanted was a stranger knocking on my door. Radio amateurs are notoriously nosey. I know them well. He simply wanted to be invited in, to see what else might be of interest. And that is precisely what I wanted to avoid. “Happy to ship it. Alternatively, you can collect it from my city office.” “What time?” “Any time during business hours.” That was it. Yesterday, he texted again, asking - Would I be able to stay open until 6pm? "No, we close at five." He was persistent. “Then I can come to your home after 8?” At that point, I’d had enough. “Bloody hell, no. I hate people. Sorry.” I’ll spare you the details, but my fellow amateur quickly went from passive-aggressive to full-blown mental. He was brutally offended by my refusal to give in; by my right to privacy; by a basic human urge to keep lunatic strangers away, to set a boundary. But what offended him the most was my right to express such feelings boldly. “Hate” may be a strong word, but sometimes, it’s the only word idiots understand. Like me, you probably have a watch or two you'd be happy to part with. A watch collection is like a bonsai tree, trimming and pruning is what makes it beautiful. But if you’re tempted to sell privately, just one tip: do not communicate outside business hours. Texting late makes you vulnerable. You're simply signalling that you have no boundaries. And people with no boundaries are easily manipulated. Groomers and psychopaths are professionals. You'll stand no chance. Yes, the key is still for sale. Dah di dah.

Every second counts. Or does it?

Last week, I got an email from a watch owner who was fairly disturbed. He took his Tudor watch to a Tudor service centre, and they refused to help. He called later that day. "What was the problem, and why could Tudor not help?" I’ve asked. The watch was losing time. Precisely half a second per day. The caller was annoyed with the fact that the maker dismissed his complaint by simply stating that the timekeeping is well within the chronometer specification for a five year old mechanical automatic watch. And I could not agree more. Actually, I pointed out that he should consider himself lucky - the timekeeping is absolutely perfect, and there is no need for adjustment. He disagreed. "I would be much happier if the watch was gaining one second per day rather than losing half." Let me put things into perspective. It is like a person earning $46,200 per day asking their boss for a pay rise of 50 cents. I am not going to bore you with details, but the longer we talked, the more determined he was that he was 'in the right' and that I should do my absolute best to solve his problem. Thirty years ago I would have ended the conversation by simply hanging up. Twenty years ago, I would have made a sarcastic remark, and then hung up. But nowadays, I am a different man: a mellow, woke wimp. "Sure, bring it in, I'll fix it". The watch arrived on my bench yesterday morning. A Tudor Pelagos with an in house movement. Assessment The first step, prior to any adjustment was to place the watch on auto winder, and let it settle at room temperature for 24 hours. After that, the watch was placed on the timing machine, in various positions. The goal was to establish whether the customer’s observation matched the actual timekeeping recorded by the timegrapher. The watch showed a constant rate in all positions of +0 seconds per day, and a heathy amplitude. There was no deviation except for dial down, showing -1 second per day. However this value is within the tolerance and resolution error of the timegrapher.

Pre-adjustment The watch strap was detached, case cleaned of gunk, rinsed and dried. The watch was then left to recover for another hour at room temperature.

Adjustment In order to gain access to the regulator, the watch case had to be removed. Tudor's new calibre MT5612 has a free-sprung balance with four adjustment screws located radially to the balance wheel, and not accessible from the top of the movement. The mechanism had to be extracted from the case.

The adjustment screws were factory set in position so that the balance wheel is poised perfectly. Theoretically, the time adjustment would require changing the position of at least two screws to prevent a degradation of poise. Also, the screws were machined with custom-design heads so a custom design (in my case modified) regulating tool is required. The first step was to experimentally determine the amount of rotation of each screw that would correlate to an adjustment of 1 second, which was approximately 15 degrees. After that, the watch was re-adjusted to +0, then two opposite regulating screws were adjusted (by moving them in towards the centre) by approximately 7 degrees. Such a fine adjustment is done purely by ‘feeling’. After the adjustment, the timegrapher read a daily error of +1 to +2 seconds.

Post-adjustment The movement was returned to it's case, secured, and once again, the watch was placed on the timing machine. Often, compressing the movement into the case could cause variation to the adjusted value. However in the case of this Tudor mechanism, the rate remained the same, with only a slight improvement in amplitude. The watch was then water pressure tested. Time keeping verification The time was set to mobile phone data network, and placed on the winder for the next seven days when the actual timekeeping error will be determined. The expectation is that the watch will keep time at a rate of around +1 second per day. Now, if you think that the purpose of this write up is to impress you with my determination to showcase the ability to squeeze a 1 second improvement out of an already perfectly factory tuned watch, then you are grossly mistaken. I just need to hear from you how much should I charge for all this work, consisting of 45 minutes behind the bench, 20 minutes of email and phone consultations, 15 minutes of in person consultation, the admin work related to record keeping and for providing insurance coverage on a watch left in my care? And was it worth it? You tell me.